


Out Of The Woods

by Cliophilyra



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Christmas, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Hypothermia, Lucie's secret santa, M/M, Snow Storm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-25
Updated: 2015-12-25
Packaged: 2018-05-09 06:29:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,681
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5529446
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cliophilyra/pseuds/Cliophilyra
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean and Cas are lost in the woods on Christmas Eve.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Out Of The Woods

**Author's Note:**

  * For [flutterby_cupcake_26](https://archiveofourown.org/users/flutterby_cupcake_26/gifts).



> A secret santa gift. I hope you enjoy it my dear - sorry it's a bit less fluffy than I originally meant to to be!
> 
> Unbetaed and written under the influence of cold meds so apologies if it makes no sense! 
> 
> Merry Christmas All!! :-)

They've been walking for too long. They're definitely lost but neither of them want to mention it yet. Dean's teeth are chattering and Cas can see his hands shaking even as he tries to hide them. 

The forest seems to lengthen and close around them. Tall fir trees, piled with snow, loom over them as they plough on through the woods, in search of the car and the road back to civilisation.

Cas pulls his coat around him, fighting the biting wind that claws at his skin and pushes through the fabric. He has never felt cold like this before. Admittedly it's only recently that he's begun to notice temperatures at all but this is different. This feels dangerous.

Ahead of him, Dean stumbles and stops, his hand darts out to brace against the rough bark of the nearest tree. His shoulders heave and his breath is shallow and laboured. 

Cas grabs him instinctively, holding him up, grasping his shoulders tightly, staring into his face. Dean's eyes are bright green and full of tears from the stinging wind. "I'm sorry," he says quietly and his voice is torn by the cold, "So fucking stupid." 

Cas shakes his head. It's not Dean's fault. They both could have taken a moment to think instead of running, unheeding, into this ancient forest after a Wendigo that is now smouldering in a cave somewhere below them. It was only when they emerged into the dark, snow-heavy forest that they realised their mistake. By then it was already too late.

No compass, no cell signal, no sign of the car; nothing but identical darkness, clawing wind and deadening snow as far as they can see.

In his trench-coat Cas is, accidentally, slightly better dressed for this than Dean. His fingers are still numb though, his clothes are beginning to soak through and he can't feel his feet.

Dean is not doing well. His skin is red raw where it's not turning blue, his eyes are streaming, he's having trouble walking now and his voice is slurred when he speaks. 

He leans heavily against Cas and mumbles again about being sorry and about wanting to sit down, to take a rest. A knot of fear twists in Cas's chest. It has been a long time since he saw Dean so vulnerable. Since his grace began to fade he has become used to thinking of Dean as his protector. He has almost forgotten that it used to be the other way around. He takes hold of Dean's face roughly, icy wet skin under his fingertips. "No!" he says, shaking him firmly, "We need to keep going." 

Dean sighs like Cas is the most unreasonable person in the world but he grips him tighter and pushes himself up. Cas drags in a frozen breath, wraps his arm around him and pulls them both onward into the dark.

Another ten minutes and the blizzard is so thick that he can't see further than the end of his nose. Snowflakes swirl madly in the wind, trees sway and creak. The snow is ankle deep, more in places and Dean's head keeps dropping to his shoulder no matter how many times he shakes him, slaps his chilled skin, pinches him, begs and cajoles him - anything to keep him awake.

Cas wants to cry but what good will that do? There's no one else to fix this. 

If he still had his mojo he could have blinked them away, back to the bunker without a thought. But he hasn't so he can't. He feels useless but he refuses to let Dean die in a forest on Christmas Eve.

He stops for a moment, shades his eyes against the snow and casts around them for any vague sign he can use.

He blinks in surprise as he notices a gleam in the distance. Without stopping to wonder, he strikes out in the direction of the tiny light, hauling Dean with him, wrapping his arm tighter around his waist, whispering meaningless words of encouragement against wet hair and frigid skin.

It seems like miles but it's only meters before they burst through the tree line in a flurry of snow and pine needles and find themselves in a clearing, facing a very dilapidated wooden cabin.

It's clearly long abandoned; the porch has collapsed, the door hangs ajar on broken hinges and the windows that shine in the moonlight are grimy and cracked. It has four walls and a roof though, as far as he can see and Cas closes his eyes and says thank you, although he has no one to be thankful to. 

He drags Dean up the sagging steps and into the decaying building. Without looking around he leans back on the door, shoving out the wind and snow and pulls Dean to him tightly, rubbing at his arms and back. Trying desperately to will some warmth into the exhausted, shivering man in his arms. 

He presses his lips to Dean's wet hair without even thinking. He whispers things that he's never said before because he's afraid and tired and suddenly, Dean knowing how he feels is more important than propriety and status quo. 

Dean doesn't seem to notice anyway, although his grip on Cas's coat tightens a fraction.

Cas looks around them after a moment, the room is small and dark. There's an old mouldy couch, a fireplace, some logs, old boxes and paper. At the back of the room is a long forgotten kitchen with cupboards and a broken down oven. Cas drags Dean over to look in the cupboards and smiles when he finds a dust covered bottle of what is almost certainly whiskey, although the label has almost rotted away.

He pulls it out and takes off the cap. He takes a swig and grimaces at the burn as it travels down his throat and seeps through his veins. He sighs. He's so tempted to give some to Dean but he's pretty certain he needs to be warmer first. 

He rifles through other cupboards in the kitchen and, through the other door, in what was once a bedroom, now home to a bare metal bedframe. He comes up trumps in the bedroom closet though with a pile of musty but mostly dry blankets. 

Dean is beginning to show a few more signs of consciousness now. The difference in temperature now they're out of the wind is astonishing. 

He sits on a box and watches vaguely as Cas spreads a blanket on the dusty, leaf strewn floor in front of the fire. Then Cas turns his attention to the fire, piling up the driest of the logs and paper and lighting it with Dean's lighter. As the smoke billows out around them they cough painfully but then the flames catch and the smoke begins to pour up the chimney and away into the storm.

Cas sits for a moment and watches the fire. They're going to be ok he thinks. He gets up and goes to Dean, pulls off his wet coat and shirt, unbuttons the jeans that cling, sodden, to his legs. Dean tries to help but his fingers are numb and he groans in frustration. Cas smiles, "It's ok, I'll get it," he helps him out of his clothes, feeling suddenly shy. He avoids his gaze, determined not to stare at goosebump sprinkled skin and solid muscles as he strips the cold material away. Once he's removed everything damp, which is everything but his underwear and t-shirt, Cas wraps Dean in one of the other blankets and focuses on ridding himself of his own soaking clothes. 

He finds a blanket of his own and they both sit in front of the fire, leaning back against the ancient couch, which had proved too mildew ridden to sit on. Shoulders touching, feet stretched towards the warmth of the hearth, fingers spread on the blanket between them, millimetres apart. 

Cas watches the firelight play over Dean's face. His mouth is slightly open, his breath still laboured, eyes closed. 

His own skin is burning as the warmth suffuses his body. Numbness is chased away by the creeping prickle of nerves defrosting and sensation flowing back. He sighs and stretches, cracking bones in his neck and shoulders as he tries to relax.

He feels a light touch on his finger and looks to the side again. The flecks of fire reflected in Dean's eyes remind him of gold in a piece of old green copper. He smiles and raises a hand to Cas's lips, brushing chill fingers lightly over chapped skin and then he leans forward and replaces his hand with his mouth and Cas gasps in surprise against his lips.

"Thank you." Dean says as he moves down, continuing to press soft kisses to Cas's jaw and neck. His lips are burning.

Cas shivers as soft lips ghost over his skin and he pulls Dean into his arms again, hauling him clumsily over to sit in his lap. Tries his best to keep the blanket around Dean while he kisses him, strokes damp skin, bites gently, plunges his hands into wet hair and swallows the sound of him. 

He wants every part of him, wanted for so long. Since the first instant he saw him. The first time he saved him. 

"Fuck Cas I'm sorry, so fucking sorry." Dean says over and over between furious kisses and Cas understands that he's not just talking about the walk in the woods. He's talking about everything. 

 ***

Sometime later the flames are lower and shades of gold and amber play over their skin as they lie in a tangled heap on one blanket with the other ones twisted between them. They're not speaking yet but they're both smiling as they look at each other, trailing fingers over sweat-damp skin, tracing the curve of a lip, a bicep, a cheekbone. 

The wind is still howling in the distance, rattling the windows and pushing at the door but the fire is raging and the whiskey is waiting. 

There have been many worse Christmas eves over the years.


End file.
